Let Slip the Dogs of War
by MidniteMarauder
Summary: Sirius Black and Remus Lupin are living in New York City. Clint Barton, unfazed by aliens, gods, and Doombots alike, probably shouldn't be so surprised to find out that wizards actually exist. (Or the one where Clint gets turned into a corgi and makes an Animagus friend.) Remus/Sirius; Clint/Coulson
1. Chapter 1

**Author's Notes:**

Right. New fandom. *cracks knuckles* Clearly, I couldn't let go of the old just yet.

For purposes of this story, Sirius Black returned from beyond the veil shortly before the Battle of Hogwarts at the end of Deathly Hallows. Remus and Sirius both survived the battle and are raising Teddy together. However you want to imagine the other details is up to you.

For Avengers, this is MCU movie canon, with slight comics villain overlap only.

This story would not exist without red_squared or bethbethbeth, both of whom helped immensely with betaing and brainstorming. (It's also partly their fault that I came up with this idea in the first place, though my own brain takes most of the blame.) Huge thanks to my other beta, whymzycal, who is the best kind of ball-buster with her efforts to de-cliché-ify the story, among her other wondrous and heroic feats. (The ones that remain are mine, all mine.)

I also want to give a shout-out to all the other authors who have written Corgi!Clint (and !Coulson) fic (and whoever posted the original prompt on the kink meme) because otherwise I would never have wanted to give it a whirl in the first place. Originally this was going to be a short, silly crackfic, but then someone (Beth) told me I needed a plot. And because I'm incredibly anal, I realized she was (probably) correct.

At first posting, I have no idea how many chapters this story will be in the end; more than four (definitely), less than ten (likely. Er, possibly.) But there will be an end. Title stolen from Shakespeare's _Julius Caesar_. Cry havoc, indeed!

.

* * *

**May 4, 2012**

It was a beautiful spring day in New York City.

Teddy was off at his third year at Hogwarts, while Sirius and Remus were lazing about in Central Park since Remus had the week off from his job.

Sirius rolled over onto his back, nosing his way under Remus' arm and licking his jaw.

"Oi, Pads," Remus said, pushing his nose away. "Quit slobbering. You're interrupting my game. If you're bored, you can go have a run. I saw a cute border collie earlier when we arrived. Maybe he's still around."

He'd seen the border collie as well, but he was more interested in bothering Remus. Buying him an iPad for Christmas had clearly been a mistake. Sirius had bought it for him so that he could read books and access the internet, which was all the rage with the American witches and wizards. Instead, Remus had accidentally discovered Muggle computer games and was now addicted to something called Angry Birds.

He snuffled loudly and whined, but Remus showed no signs of being impressed. The bastard. Sirius sighed and ambled over to the corner of their makeshift picnic blanket. He supposed he could change back, but he was feeling particularly reticent today. He wasn't in the mood for conversation, but he still wanted attention. Not that he was needy, but a scratch behind the ears—or ten—wouldn't go amiss.

It wasn't as if he begrudged Remus his toys, and certainly not today. They'd only returned yesterday from the memorial, and this was a difficult week for all of them. It was hard to believe it had been fourteen years already. Despite the sombre occasion, it had been good to see Teddy and Harry again, plus Ginny and the kids, and Andromeda as well. Harry's children were growing up so fast it wouldn't be much longer before they headed off to Hogwarts themselves. They popped home often enough, wizard travel being far simpler and quicker than the clunky aeroplanes the Muggles used, and of course Harry came to visit them when he was able. It had been a difficult decision to move away once Teddy started school, but after everything they'd been through, Sirius knew it had been the right decision.

He settled down, resting his chin on his paws, and looked out at the pond, basking in the sun.

Sirius loved New York City. It was just similar enough to London to feel familiar without any of the negative associations he had from growing up there, and the best part was that nobody knew who they were. In a city of eight million Muggles and a wizarding population of nearly 150,000, they were practically invisible.

American wizards were also similar enough to their European counterparts, but without the strict traditionalism he was used to. There were any number of Muggle-free wizarding villages all over the map, and Muggles were forever wandering into them, having taken a wrong turning off a highway, but American wizards had integrated Muggle technology into their lives and were more than happy to reprogram their talking maps and phones, and send them off with only the most cursory of memory charms required.

They'd considered buying a small house in a more rural wizarding area, but they still owned the old gatehouse back in Devon, and the moment they'd set foot in Manhattan, he knew he wanted to live here. Not that he was old, certainly not by wizarding standards, but the city invigorated him and made him feel young again. They'd promptly purchased a brownstone in Chelsea—because what better way to spend his mother's money after finally selling the doxy trap on Grimmauld Place to some moneyed nutter who paid nearly three times its market value—and were taking their time in renovating it, ignoring those pesky Muggle ordinances when they were inconvenient.

There were five wizarding shopping districts in Manhattan. The original one, founded in the early-1700s and located on Broadway just south of Wall Street, was currently known as Sentiment Alley, its original name considered too ridiculous to repeat in polite company. Appearance-wise, it wasn't all that dissimilar to Diagon, with the exception of the Starbucks Coffee shop that even had free wifi.

An entrepreneurial Muggle-born wizard had decided to open up a franchise, but since his shop was located within the unplottable alley, the corporate headquarters had apparently forgotten it existed. Taking full advantage, all five districts, plus those in L.A. and Chicago, sported a Starbucks now—Remus worked part time at the shop in Fraction Alley in the West Village—and rumour had it the owner retired to Tahiti last year at the ripe old age of 34.

Sirius was convinced that any number of the Starbucks Coffee shops around Muggle Manhattan were also owned by this wizard or his partners. They seemed to spring up out of nowhere; one day there was a dry cleaners or a greengrocer, and the next day—poof!—the green, twin-tailed siren was staring down at him with her beatific smile. (They thought she was a mermaid. Silly Muggles.) There were days as he walked past one of the shops when he was sure he heard her singing, luring unsuspecting customers in by the hundreds.

But perhaps the best thing about New York City was that his mother would have hated it with every fibre of her being. That made him love it even more. Sometimes it was the petty things in life that really made him happy.

"Hey, Padfoot. I'm feeling a bit peckish. Do you want a hot dog?" Remus asked, setting aside his iPad.

Sirius barked three times, wagging his tail.

"Yes, fine, I'll get you three. And some water. Stay here and keep an eye on our things."

Sirius had a sudden urge to grab the tablet and bury it in the deepest hole he could dig, but then he wouldn't be able to play Plants vs. Zombies all day while Remus was off at work. Perhaps that wasn't such a brilliant idea after all. He sat up on his haunches and yawned, long tongue snaking out.

Should think about getting a job of some sort myself, he thought, watching Remus climb the stairs to the vendor's carts near the park entrance. It wasn't that they needed the money, but a life of leisure could be mind-numbingly dull at times. Maybe just a day or two a week.

Remus returned a few minutes later with their food and set down a plate, performing a furtive Cutting Charm on Sirius' hot dogs. "So you don't choke," Remus added, patting him on the head, and then taking out Padfoot's water dish and pouring a bottle of Poland Spring into it. Sirius licked his hand and proceeded to devour the hot dogs while Remus snorted at him.

"You never change," Remus said, shaking his head.

Sirius licked his chops and gazed at Remus, tilting his head to the side. Why mess with perfection? he thought. He was drinking from his bowl when Remus suddenly grabbed him by his ruff.

"Hey, Pads, can you see that?" He was pointing up in the sky toward the south.

Sirius looked up but he couldn't see anything in particular. Then he noticed a strange swirling cloud in the sky, opening like an eye and getting larger. Moments later, debris came raining out of the swirl, tiny black dots that fell to earth, and a figure riding on a flame flying up to meet it.

"It's that nutter with the rocket suit," he said, or tried to say, because all that came out were a series of short, sharp barks.

"I see him, Pads," Remus said, tightening his grip on Sirius' back as several things exploded in the sky. "What do you think it is?"

Even if he had been able to answer, he had no idea what he'd say. All around them people were standing up and staring, pointing, and, of course, taking photos with their mobiles, which appeared to be the universal Muggle response to everything. Too many people. He turned his head, looking for a good place to change back, and felt Remus' hand squeeze even tighter.

The dark specks were getting closer, and suddenly everything was chaos as beams of light shot from the nearest one and the roof of a building exploded a dozen blocks away. People were screaming, shouting, crying, and running every which way. Of course, they still had their mobiles out, filming as they ran.

"Change," Remus shouted unnecessarily at him, brandishing his wand. Remus ran to help a family nearby, the mother practically in tears as she tried to gather her two small children, while Sirius bolted for the trees. Not that anyone would be watching him just then, but best to be safe.

He ducked behind a thick oak and shifted back into human form, pulling his own wand from his pocket and running back to join Remus.

"Just leave it," Remus was saying to the woman, holding her young son in his arms as she arranged her infant in a sling on her chest and looked helplessly at her belongings scattered on the blanket. "Go, quickly, to the underground. The subway," he amended. "Forget about your things. There's no time."

Sirius smiled at the young boy who looked like he was about to cry. "Hey there, big guy. Your mum's going to need your help. Think you can walk her and your little brother to the subway?" he asked, pointing.

The boy nodded. "It's all right. I'll walk them out," Remus said, ruffling the boy's hair. "Dylan, is it? Don't worry, everything's going to be just fine. I promise." He turned to Sirius. "You keep a lookout. I don't know what those things are, but—"

"I got it, Moony," he said, handing the woman her purse. "Hurry back."

"Get to the subway," he heard Remus calling out to the other stragglers. "Oh, for—would you put away the mobile and move," he said as something flew overhead and concrete exploded across the street.

Sirius grinned, his eyes tracking the flying machine, and he wished he had his motorcycle. "Amateurs," he shouted as it zoomed past and up into the air, out of range. He could hear explosions off in the distance and see random bursts of light between the buildings, and every once in a while a stray flying sled would zip overhead. It seemed as if the brunt of the attack was taking place further off to the south and east. Small mercies, he thought as Remus returned, panting a bit.

"Wotcher, Moony. You get them off okay?"

Remus nodded and took a deep breath, bending over with his hands on his thighs. "Muggles are infuriating. Bloody camera phones. They'd be all too happy to film their own deaths, this lot."

One of the tall buildings just to the south came under fire, and they watched helplessly as the building facade crumbled and people screamed.

"Should we go help?" Sirius asked.

Remus looked pained as he shook his head. "I don't know, Pads. We'd be sitting ducks out there. The policemen are out there trying to keep order and get people into the subway. The horses are going mad. Plus, any one of those buildings could come down any minute. We can't use our wands with all those people around."

"But the city's being attacked!"

"The American Ministry won't care. You know that. They don't have even a secret arrangement with the Muggle government here like we do back home."

Overhead they heard the loud whine of a jet engine, quickly followed by the staccato sound of gunfire.

"Military?"

Remus nodded. "Probably their Air Force. About t—"

"Incoming!" Sirius shouted as a trio of sleds flew by. He pointed his wand and narrowed his eyes. "_Reducto_!" One of the sleds exploded, followed quickly by a second as Remus got off his own shot.

"Take that, ya bastards!" Sirius shouted. The other one circled around, shooting beams of light that hissed when they hit the water, but he held his ground and fired another curse. The sled cart-wheeled in mid-air and dropped like a stone into the pond.

"Ha! This is fun! It's like one of your computer games, Moony, only better!"

"Um, Sirius?" Remus said slowly, and Sirius turned around at the odd tone in his voice. He looked up to see what Remus was watching and saw a massive flying metal snake weaving its way toward the city below.

"Slytherin's balls!"

**ooOOoo**

"Well, that was exciting," Sirius said, wiping his forehead as they climbed the last of the steps and walked out onto Fifth Avenue. He could see the tail of one of the metal snakes hanging over the edge of a building, and the street was littered with debris and the motionless bodies of several dead aliens. "Like something from one of those Muggle films. They were aliens, right?" He kicked at one of the bodies. "Definitely not Muggles or wizards, and I never thought I'd say this about anything, but they're even uglier than trolls. And did you see that gigantic green bloke? What do think that was? Another alien?"

"They blew up my iPad."

"Well, in fairness, Moony, you blew up their flying sleds. Blew up a few alien lizard things as well. I'd say you got the better end of the bargain."

"They blew up my iPad! I loved my iPad!"

"You do realise you sound just like Teddy."

Remus glared at Sirius. "You're not seriously going to lecture me about maturity, are you?"

Sirius laughed and slung his arm around Remus' shoulder. "You might have a small point. But it's not quite the tragedy you're making it out to be. I'll buy you another one."

"Is that your solution to everything? And mind, I'm quite capable of buying one myself." Remus sighed. "Damn it. I only needed to get three stars on two more levels to unlock all the golden eggs!" he said, shaking his head sadly, unwilling to let go of the charred remains of his favourite Muggle gadget. "I wonder if ..."

Sirius snorted. Even a hundred _Reparos_ wouldn't put it back together again. Shabby Muggle craftsmanship.

He glanced across Fifth Avenue and nudged Remus. "Huh, will you look at that?" Sure enough, the giant glass Apple sign was still miraculously in one piece, and there were people walking down the still-lit stairs at the entrance. "I think the Apple store is open. Muggles are clearly insane. Bugger the Aliens, I need an iPhone!" He snorted again and tousled Remus' hair. "Looks like my solution will have to do, you big baby."

Remus narrowed his eyes at him.

"Stop that. Besides, I know for a fact you had fun today, whether your so-called maturity will let you admit it or not. C'mon. I could do with a coffee, too. I'm sure there's a Starbucks nearby."


	2. Chapter 2

**September 22, 2012**

"Again?" Sirius said, staring up at the giant humanoid robotic ... things hovering above and around the Empire State Building. "Are you kidding me? They do realise that there are other cities on the planet, right? This shit never happened in England."

"Certainly not. We only had to worry about lunatic dark wizards trying to kill us."

And that last horde of rabid anti-werewolf nutters trying to burn down our house with Fiendfyre last month, Sirius thought, and knew Remus was thinking it too. All things considered, aliens and giant Muggle robot rampages were probably safer, and definitely much more fun.

"I hear Saskatchewan is quiet this time of year," Remus said, shifting the bag of groceries to his left hand and drawing his wand with his right.

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* * *

.

**December 14, 2012**

What the hell was it with evil masterminds these days, Clint wondered as he targeted another of the flying—yellow jellyfish that shot some kind of electrical charge was the best way to describe them, really—and fired off another arrow. There were always criminals, and S.H.I.E.L.D. had no shortage of enemies, but ever since the incident with the Chitauri and Loki—he clenched his jaw and swiveled, firing off another arrow—they seemed to be crawling out of the woodwork like fucking termites.

Well, he supposed, if they were going to go around playing superheroes, it seemed fitting that supervillains were just par for the course. Except, these jellyfish things were far more nuisance than destructive threat; even worse were the "Good Samaritan" citizens who tried to help by shooting them down with their handguns. Or attempting to. Tony was cursing over the comm channel as another bullet pinged off his armor, and he could hear the NYPD loudspeaker from one of their cruisers urging citizens to holster their personal weapons and cease firing. Fat lot of good that was doing.

The irony was, the building next to him was a goddamned correctional facility. He thought about that for a second and frowned. "Hey, Cap. Brick building on the corner of 20th is a correctional facility. Better make sure Hulk stays as far away as possible. Just in case."

"Crap," Steve said. "That's all we need. Copy that, Hawkeye, and thanks."

"Yup," he said, loosing another arrow.

A bullet whizzed by over his head from somewhere below on the street, and he cursed loudly as he ducked in front of an HVAC unit. "Fucking hell!"

"Hawkeye, report," Coulson said in a terse, clipped tone.

"I'm fine, sir. But they've got to do something about these assholes with their guns. They can't aim for shit, and they're a fucking menace."

He stood up when no new shots were forthcoming and glanced two blocks down the street where Cap was herding a group of people into the lobby of a building, covering them with his shield. Natasha was taking cover behind one of the abandoned cars on the West Side Highway, and he watched as she shot down three of the jellyfish in succession and reloaded. Hulk was safely up near the Hudson Yards—better he smash a bunch of train cars than buildings—and Tony and Thor were in the air.

Thor's hammer was a bit of overkill for these things, considering their small size, but anything to get the job done. There were hundreds of the damn things still flying around. It was cold out, especially now that the sun had set, and he wanted a fucking drink after this was all over. At least the news helicopters were keeping their distance, well out of the way over the Hudson River near the Jersey shore, after the first one to arrive was swarmed by the jellyfish and nearly crashed. Whatever station that was owed Thor big time.

"Understood," Coulson replied, and Clint could hear his shared frustration and annoyance in those three syllables. There was a faint click, and Coulson was back, sounding softer this time. "Clint, get off the roof. You can shoot just fine from ground level, and Tony can direct from the air if necessary. How are you on ammo?"

"I'm good, Phil. Only half empty. Concentrating on the ones that are attacking and leaving the rest for the others." He shot off another arrow, and a jellyfish fell to the ground, DOA. "What the hell are these things? Well, I can see what they are. Flying jellyfish tasers or something. Jesus, that sounds ridiculous. But they're not exactly doing anything. What's the fucking point except to annoy the shit out of us?"

"Hell if I know," Coulson said, and Clint could picture him rubbing the bridge of his nose.

"There's an entire city for them to fly around and cause all kinds of trouble, and we'd be screwed if they did. But they're only concentrated here near the river, and even then, what? A twenty- or thirty-block radius? They haven't moved inland much beyond 9th or 10th Avenue. It doesn't make any sense."

"I noticed that, too. Stark's been scanning for anything submerged in the river, a submarine or a beacon, anything projecting a signal, but nothing so far." Coulson paused for a couple of seconds, and then added, "If you get shot up there by some vigilante cowboy, I'm going to kill you myself."

Clint laughed. "Roger that. Sir." The comm clicked again, and he heard Cap trying to convince the Hulk to refrain from smashing any buildings or trains, and just swat the flying things down. Right. Good luck with that. The Hulk was an excellent ally to have at your back in a fight, but he tended to smash the shit out of things that he felt were in his way.

Clint nocked another arrow and stood poised, ready to fire, when he heard a loud crack. He turned his head and saw the silhouette of a person on the adjacent roof. Oh great, another fucking hero wannabe. The figure peered over the edge of the roof, and Clint tried to follow his line of sight. Nat was now three blocks south, her back to them both as she tracked more of the jellyfish while she herded a few remaining stragglers from a bus.

He glanced back up at the figure and saw it point something in her direction.

"Nat! Move left and take cover!" She didn't hesitate and dove to the side, rolling herself underneath the bus as a jet of red light struck the spot where she'd been only seconds earlier. He loosed an arrow at the figure, but there was another crack, and the figure disappeared seconds before the arrow reached it.

"What the fuck?"

He heard a crack behind him and he dropped to the ground in front of the HVAC again on instinct as a jet of red light flashed over his head. "Nat," he whispered into the comm. "Stay down. Someone's hunting."

"Copy," she said.

A male voice chuckled. "You're a wily one, aren't you," it said in accented English. "No matter. I wanted the woman, but you'll do just as well."

Well, fuck me, he thought, pressing the button on his quiver and drawing a concussive arrow. Now the jellyfish were starting to make sense. Maybe.

"Talk to me, Barton," Coulson said in his ear, but he ignored it for the moment, listening for any sounds from the man on the roof with him. Nothing. Shit. He was a sitting duck. He considered calling Tony or Thor, but he didn't have a visual on either, and he had no idea what kind of weapon he was up against.

The man chuckled again. "You Muggles are always so much fun," he said, and Clint could tell he was getting closer. No time for air support, then. He looked to the edge of the roof, less than two meters to his left. He knew there was a small, narrow balcony only four floors below. Piece of cake. That is, if he didn't trip and fall on his head. Or jump out too far.

"Barton!"

"Little busy, sir. On my way down," he whispered as he kicked some gravel to his right and dove to the left, the jet of light hitting his decoy as he'd hoped. He fired off his arrow as he vaulted over the side of the building and heard it explode above him as he fell.

"Goddamn it, Barton!"

His knees buckled slightly on impact, but he stayed on his feet, clicked his quiver mech again, drew the grappling hook arrow, and jumped backwards off the building, firing as he fell. The hook attached with a thunk, and he did his best to slow his descent, kicking off the side of the building with his feet as he grabbed the line and rappelled. He let go and jumped the last ten feet, half-limping, half-running around to the side of the building on 19th Street, looking up for any sign of his erstwhile attacker, jellyfish forgotten in the wake of more urgent matters.

Before he could tell Coulson to quit nagging, he was fine, there was another crack, and the man was standing before him in the street holding him at gunpoint. Son of a bitch!

"That was rather impressive," the man said. "I like tenacity. Makes things more interesting. However, it appears our little game is over. I win, of course."

Clint eyed the gun, which he realized wasn't a gun at all. It was some bizarre-looking tech gadget with LED lights on a thin stick about a foot long. He looked back up at the man's face, and his fingers twitched. He could draw an arrow in under a second and fire in another, but if that thing shot some kind of laser beam, he doubted it would be fast enough.

Fuck it, he thought, getting off his shot just as a bright yellow beam hit him in the stomach and the world collapsed around him.

He blinked, fighting off the dizziness that made him stagger, and struggled to his feet, twisting out from under a heavy strap. He blinked again, far too close to the sidewalk even though he could have sworn he was standing. He took a hesitant step back and yelped as he fell over onto his ass, and then rolled to get upright. He'd tripped over his quiver. He smelled blood, strong and coppery, too strong, and looked down, sure he must be bleeding out. He saw a long snout and fur, and he yelped again, backing up against the building, feeling panic welling up inside him. "What the fuck?" he shouted, or tried to. A series of barks issued from his throat, and he froze.

He looked up and saw the man had fallen back off the curb into the street, an arrow through his shoulder. The wound was bleeding freely, and the man cursed in a language Clint didn't recognize as he reached out to grab his weapon and struggled to his feet, his face twisted in a grimace. Clint heard the distant sound of running feet and a faint tinny buzzing of "Barton! Report, goddamn it! Stark, get over to his last position right now. Johnson, get his signal back!"

The man looked behind him, swaying and muttering as he raised the weapon again, pulling the stick from it and waving it in the air. There was a loud crack, and the man vanished.

Staring in disbelief, still feeling sick and disoriented, overwhelmed by scents, and unused to all the changes to his body, Clint did what his new instincts were screaming at him to do. He ran.


	3. Chapter 3

Okay, this looks bad, Clint thought.

He had no idea where he was or what the hell he was supposed to do next as he sat huddled between some trash cans and a set of low concrete steps, his back pressed up against the wall as he stared out at the sidewalk, shivering. The fact that his team hadn't found him yet was troubling. He'd had a GPS tracker chip embedded in his field suit, as well as one in the heel of his boot, but as he was no longer wearing either of them and had no idea where they'd disappeared to …

I'm a fucking dog. A fucking _dog_! he thought furiously. He'd already given up hope that he was dreaming because even in his most fucked up nightmares, he would never come up with something as ridiculous as this. He still felt like himself. Mostly. The conflicting instincts were annoying, though. He wasn't sure where the urge to run had come from since he usually had much better control over his fight or flight instincts, he kept sniffing at things a lot—the trash beside him was pretty disgusting and smelled like cabbage—and he'd had to shake himself twice to keep from chasing after a stray cat.

He sat back on his haunches and twisted his body, scratching behind his ear with his stubby back-right paw. Great, I probably have fleas now, too. Useless short, stubby legs and fleas. Fuck me, he groaned. He supposed it could have been worse. At least he wasn't a Pomeranian.

Yeah, Barton. Way to look on the bright side.

And speaking of bright, God, his eyesight sucked! It wasn't so much the loss of color perception—everything looked sort of bluish and gray in the dark anyway—but the loss of visual acuity. He'd practically had to put his paws on the back bumper of a car before he could read the damn license plate. There was no way he was going to be able to read street signs, and while he supposed he could try to guess which avenues were which and try to find Times Square as a reference … . He glared down at his stubby legs and bit at something stuck in his paw.

He was sure he had enough stamina to make it. But people would stare at a dog, especially one without a leash or an owner. Shit. If he was picked up by the cops or whatever passed as animal control in the city, especially without a collar and tags, he was completely fucked. Hard to pick locks without hands.

He resisted the urge to rest his chin on his paws and watched as people walked by at scattered intervals, their conversations unusually animated and loud. At least he could understand them, and he was relieved to discover that the rest of his team had been successful in containing the jellyfish things. A few passersby glanced at him and made gestures and cutesy cooing noises at him, but he growled low in his throat and they backed away with a shrug or a "dumb dog."

The street was quieter now, and he settled back in his temporary hiding place, thinking. He'd been in more fucked up situations in his life than he could count, but this one kind of took the cake. His team would be searching for him, but they sure as shit wouldn't be looking for a dog, and even if they walked right up to him, what was he supposed to do? Bark at them? Bite Tony? Lick Coulson's face or bury his nose in Coulson's crotch? Well, that might not be so bad. Oh, shit, he had not just thought that. Ugh. _Think, Barton!_ Maybe he could try tapping out Morse code with his paws.

Ah, who the hell was he kidding; Coulson was going to murder him. That is, if he ever found him. Shit, shit, shit, shit, shit!

"I'm starting to rethink our decision about keeping Christmas here. Maybe we should go home like we usually do."

"This is home, Moony. Teddy's been looking forward our first Christmas here, and really, if anything, this is a good sign. Crazy Muggle attack today means we've got at least a month before the next one, and he'll be back at Hogwarts by then. C'mon. We've talked about this before. Even if a giant robot squid attacked next, we can protect him. The house has a dozen protection spells on it already, and it's easy enough to cast a Confundus Charm if any strange Muggle gets too close. And you know we can always Apparate if anything ever got out of hand."

"I know, I know. It's just … there isn't a manual for this kind of thing. He's a child. Our child."

"And a brilliant one. He's always scored Outstanding in Defence, and he's had us to supplement his teaching. He can hold his own against Muggles and their daft inventions."

"Sirius! He's thirteen!"

"Have you forgotten what we were like at thirteen?"

"Of course I do! Why do you think I'm so bloody nervous? He'd be so excited I'd have to use a Full Body Bind to restrain him. I'm just glad we were all visiting with Harry when those other bloody things attacked last summer. He's nearly as bad as you were at his age."

Clint listened to the two men as they walked slowly past and stopped in front of the stairs as one of them laughed. Against his better judgment he crawled out to get a better look, eyes narrowing and ears pulled back with suspicion. He'd heard some strange shit in his time, but damned if he could understand even half of what the hell they were talking about. What the fuck was a muggle? It sounded familiar, though.

"C'mere, you old worrywart."

Clint watched as the one in the darker coat pulled other man close and kissed him gently on the lips.

"I know I'm being irrationally overprotective, Pads, but I'm still not ready to be a parent to a teenager."

"You're a wonderful father, and Teddy's a good kid. Bright and inquisitive. And he loves you."

"He loves you, too, you daft bugger."

"Of course he does. I teach him all the good spells."

Clint's ears pricked up. Spells? Could they be Asgardians? No, he'd have known if there were other Asgardians on Earth. Thor would have told them. They didn't talk like Thor, either.

The man in the light-colored coat snorted. "You haven't secretly taught him how to Apparate, have you? Because then I might have to kill you."

The man's tone just then was so reminiscent of Coulson that Clint must have made some sort of involuntary noise. Both men glanced sharply over at him, expressions tense, and one of the men reached for his coat pocket.

"S'ok, Moony. Just a pup. Hey there, little pup," the dark-coated man said, stepping over toward Clint. "What are you doing out here by yourself?"

Clint backed up slowly, ears flat and a low growl forming in his throat.

The man laughed, bending down and slowly reaching out his hand. "Oh, stop that, daft dog. I'm certainly not going to hurt you."

"Kindred spirit, I see," the other man said from behind them. "I've never seen anyone on our street with a Corgi before."

Clint growled and barked loudly. _"A Corgi? I'm a fucking Corgi? Fucking psycho magician asshole can't even manage a real fucking dog? I should have been a Rottweiler! Or at least a Pit Bull if it was a height thing. Jesus Christ, I'm not _that _short."_

"Hush, pup, it's all right," the man said softly. "No, I know all the dogs around here. This one's not from around here, are you, pup? No collar, either." He stared at Clint, frowning slightly. Clint growled louder.

"He's frightened," the man said softly.

Clint snorted and barked. _"Who the fuck are you calling frightened, asshole?"_

The man's frown deepened and he tilted his head, continuing to stare. Clint backed away until his rump was pressed flat against the building. He didn't like being scrutinized like this. Just leave me the fuck alone so I can die in peace, already, he thought. Maybe if he bit him …

The man stood up abruptly and walked back to his companion, whispering. Clint couldn't hear what they were saying, but at this point he didn't care. He heard them move off and he relaxed a bit, sitting back on his haunches—

—only to let out a screeching kind of yowl a moment later as a large black shadow loomed menacingly over him.

_"What the fuck, man?"_ he barked, angry as he looked up into the jowls of a very large black dog that looked like it could eat him in three bites._"Er, nice doggie."_

_"Hah! I knew it!"_

_"Knew what? Who the hell are you? And whoa! Dogs can really talk to one another? Like on _Dog Cops_? This is totally freaky."_

The black dog snorted, and Clint could have sworn it rolled its eyes. _"Are you thick or something?"_

The dog bent down and nosed him with a muzzle that was bigger than Clint's entire head. Well, maybe not that big, but still.

_"Hey, get off me! I don't stink, it's the fucking garbage."_

The black dog sat down and lolled its tongue. _"Oh, I get it. First time, eh? Takes a bit of getting used to. I didn't know there were other wizards living in the neighborhood."_ The dog raised its paw. _"Sirius Black. Or Padfoot when I'm a dog."_

Clint stared. _"Wizards? What the fuck, man? No, really, what the fuck are you talking about? What do you mean, 'when you're a dog'?"_

The dog stared back. _"But you're an Animagus, too, aren't you?"_

_"An aniwhatmas?"_

The black dog stood up and nosed him again, sniffing him all over. Clint stiffened, growling low in his throat. He didn't know whether he wanted to attack or play. Or maybe both. He arched his back, ready to pounce, and without warning, his tail started wagging as Padfoot snuffled in his ear. He felt … happy, cheerful, and it was disconcerting to have his body so at odds with his mind.

_"Hey! Cut that shit out!"_

_"Bloody hell! No way you're a Muggle. Unless …"_ The dog looked over its shoulder and barked out _"Moony! Get your arse over here."_

_"What's a muggle? Oh, wait! Now I remember. That other asshole used that word! Whatever it is, I'm definitely not one, because that shit sounds nasty."_

Wait a minute. Moony? One of the men from just before had called the other one Moony, and sure enough Clint looked up to see the man with the light-colored coat with his hand on the black dog's ruff, looking worried.

"What is it, Pads? You know I can't understand you like this."

He should have known. Something was definitely fishy about those two. Spells and weird words he'd never heard before. What if they were in cahoots with the asshole who zapped him? He growled at the big dog and snapped at his muzzle, then turned and darted through the narrow space behind the second trash can.

"Oh, no you don't," the man said, grabbing him around the middle and picking him up. Clint struggled and tried to bite him. "Padfoot!"

The black dog—Padfoot—jumped up onto his hind legs, leaning against the man's shoulder and grabbed the ruff at the back of Clint's neck between his teeth, tugging hard. _"Don't make me bite you, little pup."_

_"Then tell your owner to put me the fuck down!"_

_"He's not my owner, and while you may not be an Animagus, you're definitely not a normal dog. You end up on the wrong side of a wand or something?"_

Clint stilled.

_"Who are you?"_ Padfoot asked again.

Clint didn't answer. There was no way in hell he was trusting this strange man and this dog, who, Clint was starting to realize, probably wasn't a normal dog either.

_"We're trying to help you, you idiot."_

_"What, turn me into a Schnauzer next?"_

"Everything all right there, Mr. Lupin?" someone called down from a window above.

Clint twisted to look up at an elderly man sticking his head out of a second story window.

"We're fine here, Mr. Shapiro. Sorry to have bothered you. We're, ah, dogsitting for a friend, and he got a bit skittish."

"Aw, he's a cute little fella. Padfoot seems to like him. It's no bother. Can't be too careful these days, if you know what I mean. Never thought I'd live to see the day when I'd have to worry about lizard men and flying jellyfish from outer space. We were watching the news. Crazy world we're living in."

"Indeed," Lupin said.

"No, no, Ethel, it's fine. Go back to your movie. It's just that nice Mr. Lupin from next door. No aliens rootling through the trash," Mr. Shapiro said over his shoulder.

"Er, would you like me to put your rubbish bins on the curb, Mr. Shapiro?" Remus asked.

"That would be awfully nice of you, young man, thank you."

"You're welcome. Have a good evening."

"You too, and watch out for aliens. Streets aren't safe anymore. Crazy times, I say," Mr. Shapiro said, ducking back in and closing the window.

_"They weren't aliens. The jellyfish,"_ Clint half-barked, half-growled. _"And I don't think you're a dog, either"_

Padfoot dropped down onto all fours. _"Oh, I'm definitely a dog. But only when I want to be,"_ he barked, then bared his teeth in a grin.

_"Huh?"_ A talking, grinning, part-time dog. He had no idea what to make of any of this.

Lupin dragged the cans to the curb, one at a time, one hand still tight around Clint's midsection, as if everything were perfectly normal. Clint thought about trying to run for it. He could possibly work himself free, but it was a long drop to the ground for his short legs. He didn't trust the man or the dog, the dog who sounded suspiciously like the man in the dark coat from earlier—the man who had seemingly disappeared. His instincts told him to squirm free, to run, but he fought them this time. There was some weird shit going on, and he needed answers.

_"You're not a wizard,"_ Padfoot barked.

_"Last time I checked? No. Is that a thing? Wizards?"_

_"If Moony puts you down, are you going to run again? Because don't think we can't catch you if you do."_

_"Are you dognapping me?"_

Padfoot snorted.

"Padfoot," Lupin said, looking around, "We can't stay outside much longer. You're both too loud and we're attracting too much unwanted attention."

_"I told you. We can help you. And no, I don't usually bring home strays. Don't want my partner to get jealous."_

Strays. Huh. The sad thing was, it was true. He was. At least for now. Shit. _"You're the man from before,"_ Clint barked.

_"Now you're getting it, pup."_

_"Stop calling me pup."_

Padfoot nudged Lupin's thigh, and they walked to the brownstone two doors down. _"Don't know what else to call you. You haven't told me your name."_

Lupin touched his hand to the door and muttered something, and the door opened. Clint stiffened again, wondering what the hell he was getting himself into. Wizards? Living in New York? He'd seen enough magic shit with Loki. But somehow that was different. Loki wasn't human for one thing.

He looked up at Lupin, who was petting him gently on the head as they walked inside, and almost growled at his traitorous tail, wagging like it hadn't a care in the world. He wasn't the best judge in his present state, but the man looked to be about Coulson's age or so, and he smelled nice. Calm. Safe. His coat smelled like coffee. He felt a pang at the thought of Coulson but tucked that away for later. He had other things to think about right now. This Lupin looked and smelled human to his canine nose. But Thor and Loki looked human. Mostly. He'd never bothered to sniff them, though.

And that thought right there was something he never wanted to think about again.

Lupin muttered something again and the door closed, locking behind them, and Lupin set him down on the floor, then took off his shoes and coat, and hung the coat on a rack beside the door. He looked at the two dogs.

"I'll go fix supper. I presume you can handle this on your own now, Pads, so you two can join me in the kitchen when you're ready."

Clint turned and stared at the door as Lupin left them, and Padfoot nudged him with his nose. _"I'll take you out for a walk later after we eat. Told you. You're not a bloody prisoner. Arse."_

_"A dog walking a dog? Also, I am not eating any fucking dog food, so don't go getting any ideas."_

_"We don't even keep dog food in the house. I'll need to talk to Moony and let him know what's going on, but first we should do something about your furry little problem."_ He barked out a laugh, and Clint growled. _"Sorry, that's a bit of a personal joke. Nothing on you, mate. Right. Don't—what's the expression you Yanks say? Don't freak out."_

_"Sure. No problem. I don't know what you usually get up to, but hey, this has been a completely normal day for me."_

Padfoot laughed again and Clint twitched his nose. Jesus fucking Christ. He was definitely living in a _Dog Cops_ episode.

_"At least you have a sense of humor about it. You gonna tell me your name? Or a name?"_

Clint sighed. He was getting tired of "pup." What the hell. He could do that without compromising himself. _"It's Clint."_

Padfoot nodded, and Clint watched in disbelief as he then stretched up onto two legs and morphed into a man. The man from before in the dark coat, as he'd expected. Shit. Why can't I do that? he thought, jealous. Then he wondered how Sirius was fully dressed and thought of his own clothes, wondering again where they were, since he didn't remember seeing them lying on the sidewalk. Only his bow and quiver.

"Nice to meet you, Clint. As I said earlier, I'm Sirius Black. Sirius like the star, not the adjective, since you've mangled our language and seem to pronounce both the same way. Or Padfoot. You can call me whichever you prefer. And my partner," he pointed his thumb over his shoulder down the hall. "Remus Lupin. Also Moony, but you're not allowed to call him that, only me, so Remus or Lupin will have to do.

"Now," he continued as he took off his coat and shoes, "let's see if we can turn you back." He pulled a long, narrow stick of wood from his pocket and Clint yelped, backing away, his tail tucked between his legs.

He ran between Sirius' legs and threw himself against the door, barking. _"Get that thing the fuck away from me and let me out of here, you bastard. I knew I shouldn't trust you."_

"Clint, hey, stop it, you're going to hurt yourself. Hey, I said stop—Ouch! Quit that you little bugger!" Sirius yelled as Clint bit his finger.

"Everything all right out there?" Remus called from down the hall.

"Fine, Moony. Don't worry about us," Sirius called back. He backed away from Clint slowly, looked at the piece of wood in his hand, and bent down and placed it on the floor. "I take it you've seen one of these before. It's a wand, and I'm not going to lie and say it's harmless. I am a wizard, and a damn good one at that, but I really wasn't going to hurt you. Go on," he said, backing away. "Smell it."

Clint stopped growling and eyed Sirius. He looked down at the wand lying on the floor. Magic wands. Jesus Christ. He took a tentative step forward, sniffing at the ground.

"Ebony with a dragon heartstring core. Fifteen inches. Inflexible and robust, or so I was told. Rather like its owner, as I've also been told," Sirius said lightly.

Clint had no idea what the hell Sirius was talking about as he sniffed the wand. It smelled like wood and something sharp that he couldn't identify, and it also smelled like Sirius himself. He nudged the wand with his nose and felt a slight tingle as a spark shot from the tip. He jumped back and barked at it. _"What the hell was that?"_

"What did you do to it?" Sirius said. "It never does that."

Clint heard a sound like a soft exhalation of breath and Padfoot stood before him.

_"You said you weren't a wizard."_

_"I'm not a fucking wizard. I'm a human being, or I was until some asshole stuck a-a fucking wand thing with lights in my face, and then I wasn't. And if you think I'm going to let you point that thing at me and turn me into a toad next—"_

_"All right, all right. I'm not going to turn you into a toad. Toads are shite anyway."_

Clint growled.

Padfoot shrugged his shoulders. _"Well, they are. Listen. It's obvious that some wizard turned you into a dog, and the only way I can turn you back is to 'point that thing at you' and change you back. Unless you want to stay this way, of course. Remus thinks you're cute. He'd probably like another pet."_

_"Fuck you, Black, I'm nobody's pet. And don't ever fucking call me cute."_

Padfoot lolled his tongue and laughed. _"I think I'm starting to like you. And I don't like many people."_

Clint thought Sirius was kind of an asshole, but he was also not in a position to blindly turn away help. Not when he was stuck like this. He pushed away thoughts of Loki and his spear. Fucking magic. _"You can really change me back?"_

Padfoot huffed. _"Of course I can. Transfiguration is child's play. I was the world's youngest Animagus, you know."_

_"Yeah, whatever that means. Don't fuck with me. If you change me into a toad or a newt or whatever the fuck it is you wizards do for fun, I swear I'll kill you."_

_"Yeah, yeah."_ Padfoot huffed. _"Muggles. You're a real charmer, aren't you? Try to help a bloke out, and he threatens to kill you. I'm going to change back now. If you bite me again, I won't change you into a toad, but I might turn you into a flobberworm. They don't have teeth,"_ he added, twisting his mouth and showing his own sharp teeth.

Clint had never seen a dog smirk before. Learn something new every day. _"Whatever."_ He took a deep breath. He could do this. It wasn't as though he had many choices. _"Just change me back."_

Sirius changed and picked up his wand. "This won't hurt a bit." Clint stiffened, and Sirius lowered his wand. "No, I mean it. It shouldn't hurt at all. It just might feel a bit strange. Ready?"

Clint nodded and braced himself not to flinch. Sirius pointed his wand, muttered some nonsense words, and flicked his wrist, and a narrow beam of light shot out and enveloped Clint. He felt something tugging, like his body was trying to stretch itself out of his skin, and then … nothing. The light faded and he was still a foot tall and furry. So much for the great and powerful Oz.

Sirius frowned. "Fuck. That's never happened before. I could see it starting to work, but then it just stopped. Let me try that again."

After three times, Clint just huffed at him and glared.

"Merlin's balls, what the fuck kind of spell did he use on you?"

Clint snorted, a dozen impotency jokes on the tip of his tongue, but useless while Black was in human form. He sniffed again and trotted off down the hall, following the scent trail. He could smell something delicious cooking, and his stomach was rumbling.

"Fine, food first. We'll figure this shit out later, because now I'm really fucking annoyed. Hey, Moony, meet our new friend, Clint. He's a Muggle, by the way."

"He's a Muggle? Then how the hell did he ... ? Sirius, he's a dog."

"Well, yes, that's rather obvious. He hasn't told me exactly how that happened yet, but he apologizes for trying to bite you earlier—"

_"I did no such thing!"_ Clint barked and came to a screeching halt as he took in the kitchen, staring with wide eyes.

"Can't understand you like this, pup, but I'll take that as a 'he apologizes profusely and thanks you for feeding him' because clearly our friend Clint is a stand-up kind of bloke."

Clint blinked. He closed his eyes and counted to ten and then opened them again while Sirius and Remus carried on their conversation as though everything was perfectly normal.

Remus stepped away from the stove, giving Sirius a quick kiss. "Yes, and I'm sure I'm glad I don't speak dog. But you should have at least told me he was a Muggle. I thought he was just a new Animagus who was stuck in phase." He rubbed the bridge of his nose and sighed. "You could at least change him back so he can sit at the table with us for supper."

"I tried," Sirius said, twirling his wand in his fingers. "Whatever he was hit with wasn't a normal Transfiguration spell."

Remus cleared his throat, and Clint saw them briefly exchange a look he couldn't read before he went back to gawking.

"All right, then. We'll figure something out. Now go wash your hands before you touch anything. They were all over the street, and I'm sure they're filthy." Remus looked over at Clint in the doorway with an expression of sympathy. "Make yourself at home, Clint. I'm sure it's not what you're used to, but …"

Remus banged around the cupboards, pulled out a silver dog bowl, and filled it with bottled water from the fridge while a placemat went zooming over to the corner of the room, settling on the floor. Remus set the bowl down on the mat along with some kind of cookies. Clint really hoped they weren't dog biscuits.

"Here," Remus said. "They're digestive biscuits in case you're feeling a bit peckish. Dinner will take another twenty minutes or so. I'll make yours without garlic and onions."

Clint continued to stare around the kitchen, barely registering what Remus was saying. He knew his eyesight was off as a dog, but seriously, this whole thing was just bizarre.

On one counter, a knife was chopping vegetables on a cutting board, which deposited the chopped vegetables into bowls before setting itself back down on the countertop. At the sink, the water was running, and a soapy sponge was washing the dishes. He watched as Sirius walked over and the sponge jumped into his hand, scrubbing its way halfway up his arms.

"Oi! That's enough, you little bugger. I'll have a proper bath later." Clint could swear the sponge looked chastened as it flew over to the soap dispenser—which promptly squirted more detergent—and went back to scrubbing pots while Sirius rinsed the suds and dried his hands on an ordinary looking dishtowel. Well, that was something at least.

The kettle whistled just then, and two teacups flew from the cupboard, floating as Remus spooned loose tea into them and the kettle poured water before setting itself back down at the back of the stove.

This wasn't _Dog Cops_, or even Oz. This was a Disney cartoon and Alice in fucking Wonderland on LSD. He half expected the dishes and plates to start singing and dancing any minute now.

Sirius glanced at Clint and shook his head. "Yeah, sorry. Probably a bit much. You get used to it. Just watch out for the knife, she can get testy when she chops onions." He pointed to the placemat on the floor in the corner. "Go on. It's not poisoned." He walked over, bent down, and picked up one of the biscuits, popping it into his mouth. "S'good. I promise."

"Padfoot," Remus chided as he set down two mugs of tea on the table, "Stop eating Clint's food. You know perfectly well where the tin is."

So, probably not poisoned, Clint thought as he trotted over to the mat and tentatively stuck his tongue in the water. The bowl didn't sing or dance or do anything at all except sit there, and the water didn't taste off, so he shrugged and drank, trying not to slobber all over himself too much while Sirius filled Remus in on their canine conversation from earlier and dinner apparently cooked itself, sizzling on the stove. He turned to look at the chopping knife, but it had finished its work and was busy flirting with the sponge over at the sink. Right. Nothing unusual at all. He was in medical and someone had clearly given him the good drugs.

Turning back, he sniffed at the biscuits. They smelled nice, so he ate one, licking the crumbs first from his muzzle and then from the floor before he realized what he was doing. He might be a dog, all right, but this was fucking degrading. He lay down on the floor and covered his eyes with his paws. No way was he going to let his team see him like this.

"Don't worry, it's clean," Sirius said, chuckling.

"Stop teasing him. It took you weeks before you got used to it, and you did it on purpose. Not that you ever cared much about clean floors, though."

"Yeah, but Prongs was worse. Remember how he kept getting his antlers stuck in the bed curtains?"

Clint peeked out from between his paws and raised what passed as his eyebrows. Antlers?

Remus laughed and looked down at Clint. "Our friend, James. Sirius here became a dog, but James turned into a stag. It was a bit … unwieldy. Especially in the dormitory."

"Boarding school," Sirius explained. "Moony and I have known each other since we were eleven."

Huh. Clint thought briefly of the people he knew when he was eleven and shuddered. He couldn't imagine spending any time with them now, much less wanting to. It must be nice, he thought, to have someone who knew you that well, for that long, and still wanted to be with you. His thoughts turned to Coulson and the recent developments between them. Yeah, it was pretty nice, he thought with some surprise. Damn it, he didn't want to think about that right now. He couldn't afford to.

"We can talk more about your predicament after supper," Remus said, "but is there anyone that we should contact for you? Your family is probably worried. Do they even know what happened to you? Although I suppose not, considering how we found you."

Clint just sat there, though he felt his tail twitching in a half-wag. He knew damn well he needed to get in touch with his team—with Coulson—and should have already tried, somehow, but … He turned his head away, staring at the baseboard molding along the wall. Despite his seeming unflappability, Coulson would be well past worried by now and had probably called out the National Guard for reinforcements. S.H.I.E.L.D. would be fully mobilized, and he could picture Natasha tearing down buildings with the Hulk's help looking for him. And the others as well; Tony, Steve, and Thor. They weren't quite family yet, not like Nat and Phil—fuck, Phil was really going to kill him—but they were his in a way that made him fret at causing them grief.

_But I'm a fucking dog._ Did S.H.I.E.L.D. even have protocol for this? Why couldn't evil supervillains do what they were supposed to do and just abduct him and torture him for information? Sure, that sucked, but at least then he would be on familiar ground.

"Clint?" Remus said softly, sitting beside him on the floor and gently stroking the fur on his back.

Clint sighed and rested his chin on his paws. He didn't know these strange men at all, and this whole situation was so far beyond FUBAR that he still wasn't sure it was real. He didn't really trust them either, despite his instincts telling him they were all right. Still, they had welcomed him into their home when the alternative was him freezing outside, scared, confused, and alone. They hadn't poisoned or drugged him, and Sirius hadn't turned him into a newt … yet. All things considered, as bad as it was, it really could have been worse, which didn't bear thinking about at all.

He knew the second his team learned his location, they'd descend like a … well, a pack of dogs. What if his instincts were wrong and he was just being lulled into a false sense of security? Sirius was a dog, at least sometimes, so Clint couldn't rule out that Sirius would know exactly how to trick him. And while this magic shit was way beyond anything he was equipped to deal with on his own, especially now without any weapons and stuck in this form as he was, there was still the possibility that these two were in cahoots with the asshole who'd done this to him.

It seemed unlikely, given everything that had happened so far, but instincts be damned. He had no idea what their capabilities were, the extent of their powers. While he was fully confident in the strength and abilities of his team, he was hesitant to bring them hell-bent into a situation with so many unknown variables and potential dangers. He needed more intel, and he'd have to talk to Sirius again. Interrogation wasn't his strong point, but he had plenty of experience on the receiving end.

Remus was still petting him, making soft, soothing noises, and it was hard to resist pushing up into his hand.

"It'll be all right. I know you're probably frightened by all of this magic. We didn't mean to make you uncomfortable, and if I'd known you weren't a wizard when I started making supper, I'd have done it the Muggle way."

There was that word again. He tilted his head back and looked at Remus. He wasn't the most handsome man, but he had a pleasant face despite the tiredness in his eyes. And he was kind, so there was that as well. Maybe he could get him to explain a few things. He tried the "raised eyebrow" expression, and Remus smiled.

"Right, you probably have no idea what a Muggle is. Sorry. I forget sometimes."

Clint huffed, set his chin back down, and wriggled his body a little bit closer. Remus was scratching behind his ears and it felt fantastic.

"Like that, do you? I've had a lot of practice, as you can imagine. Sirius has been an Animagus—that's a wizard who can turn himself into an animal at will—since he was fifteen. And a Muggle is just our word for people who aren't magical."

It's a stupid word, he thought, eyes closed in bliss, tail wagging. Traitorous body. It was completely fucking with his finely-honed sense of suspicion.

"I also think," Remus continued, his fingers hitting all the right spots, "that you should let us contact your family. I'm guessing you don't want them to see you like this, but if Sirius is right and this is some kind of dark spell …" Remus trailed off, sighing. "We can send them an owl—or no, that wouldn't be a very good idea, would it? I suppose we'll have to use Sirius' iPhone, ring them up and let them know you'll be gone for a few days at the very least. Sirius will change back after supper, and you two can talk a bit more. He'll be right down, he's just gone upstairs to get Callie."

Dark spell? Days? Send an owl? Was that some kind of code? Half the time it felt like they were speaking a completely different language, and he hated the confusion he felt. He shuddered, and Remus rubbed his neck, smoothing the fur at his ruff. Damn. That was going to be one hell of a phone call, and easy as shit to trace. He'd have to think more on that. And who was Callie? Christ, he hoped it wasn't a cat. He could already feel the instinct to chase it thrumming through his body, and he sighed. This really was humiliating. He didn't even want to think about the fact that a strange man, no matter how nice he seemed, was petting him, or the fact that Clint was letting him and enjoying it far too much.

The wooden spatula clanged against the side of the frying pan, and Remus got to his feet. "Don't get up. I'll make you a plate."

Clint heard a hooting sound. He raised his head and saw an owl sitting on Sirius' shoulder as he walked back into the kitchen. The own hooted again, stretched its wings, and flew off to a five-sided open cage halfway up the wall that Clint hadn't noticed earlier, perching on a bar. It pecked at a bowl and hooted again, and Clint got the distinct feeling it wasn't happy.

"No need to get tetchy, I'm getting your food," Sirius said, taking the bowl and bringing it to the counter. He took a box from the pantry and poured some of the contents into the bowl. Remus ladled something in on top, and Sirius flicked his wand and sent the bowl zooming back into the cage. The owl hooted again and started eating.

"You'd think she'd be happy with all the rats she finds, the little glutton," Sirius said, and the owl lifted its head, hooted, and gave him a baleful glare as though she understood that she'd been insulted.

"Padfoot, let her eat. I'm just glad she wasn't out flying with those things. She could have been hurt." Remus set a bowl of stew meat and a cut-up baked potato covered in gravy on the placemat next to the water dish. "Here you go, Clint. Don't worry about making a mess. You could hardly do worse than Padfoot did in the beginning. Just let it cool for a moment; I don't want you burning your tongue. Oh, and that's Callie, our owl."

Clint blinked. Send an owl. So it hadn't been code after all; Remus had meant an actual owl. They had a pet owl. In New York City. Sure. Why not? Probably more fun than a parakeet.

Sirius and Remus sat down at the table to eat, and he walked over to the bowl and sniffed. It smelled really good, and he licked tentatively at the gravy. It was delicious, but still a bit hot, so he waited. He was starving but his tongue was like three times its normal size, and the last thing he wanted to do was burn himself. He sighed and lay down on the floor.

Okay. Remus said they'd call. What the hell were they going to say? "Hello, Agent Coulson, you don't know me, but I'm a wizard and your friend Clint has been turned into a dog. We need to keep him for a few days so that we can figure out how to change him back, since it didn't work the first four times we tried. I hope you don't mind. Oh, and don't worry, he'll be perfectly safe with us. He says to tell you hello and not to come after him."

He snorted. Sure, they'd buy that. Right. Not even if he told Remus to use every single safeword code phrase they'd come up with between them over the years during the conversation. Barking into the phone sure as hell wouldn't do any good.

Shit. They weren't going to trust anything, not until they saw him with their own eyes. And that was a problem. He glanced over at Remus and Sirius, who were engaged in a quiet conversation as they ate. Sirius was kind of an asshole but no worse than Stark, and despite Clint's misgivings, he kind of liked Remus. They'd barely blinked at his predicament and were taking the whole thing pretty calmly. His team, on the other hand, was probably going to freak the fuck out. Well, probably not Thor. Oh! Maybe the Allspeak worked on dogs. He'd never thought to ask. That could be helpful.

And really, after Loki and his magic, this shouldn't be a huge leap, but Loki was from another planet. Another realm, Thor had said of Asgard and the others worlds. But this wasn't Asgard; this was Earth. Wizards were alive and well and living under their noses here in New York City. And elsewhere, he realized. Sirius and Remus were obviously English, and that asshole had cursed in some foreign language.

Even if Sirius and Remus weren't a threat to him personally, their kind could be a threat to national security. That asshole who'd done this to him definitely was, and who was to say there weren't a hundred or even a thousand others like him? Shit. Wizards. Magic. On Earth. This had the potential to be huge, and if Fury got wind of it—or worse, if the fucking trigger-happy assholes on the World Security Council got wind of it … Christ, they'd probably send another nuke to New York.

He sighed again. This was far more responsibility than he wanted, especially in his present state. It was crazy and confusing as shit and too much to process all at once, but his instincts kept telling him that these two were okay, and if they really were okay, he'd be bringing the worst kind of shit down on them. Of course, there was the other little problem; he didn't trust his instincts right now.

Well, except for the one that told him he was fucking starving. Probably not poisoned, he thought again as he stood up and began to eat his supper. He might be a dog, but at least his mind was still his own. Thank God for that. He'd deal with wizards and magic and impossible phone calls soon enough.


End file.
